


Just For John

by Bluebellstar



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence - The Reichenbach Fall, First Kiss, John Watson is a Saint, M/M, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25068748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluebellstar/pseuds/Bluebellstar
Summary: John Watson asked for one more miracle. Sherlock decides to oblige.Canon divergence from the cemetery. Definitely au.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 86
Collections: 10 Years of Sherlock





	Just For John

**Author's Note:**

> This has probably been done before, but I couldn't resist.

Being dead was actually rather boring. It had been ten days, and all Sherlock had done was sit in a room, pace in a room, and ridicule Mycroft in a room - a different room to his current cell, but a room nonetheless. All the while, he had missed the loyal, steadying presence of his best friend, flatmate and loyal blogger. John's absence was like a gunshot wound that got stabbed open every single time he so much as breathed. He had had no intelligence of him since their call - Mycroft wouldn't even let him see the funeral, not that Sherlock imagined that there would have been record attendance. He was exposed now - a fraud, a failure, a freak. His hands threaded through his hair, gripping the curls at their roots. God, he needed a case! He had one, but his superior prick of a brother wouldn't let him start it yet! Sanctimonious arse. He curled deeper into the Belstaff that he'd told Mycroft would only be parted from him over his actual dead body, and raised an eyebrow at the woman who drifted into his cell. Anthea or Agatha or whatever she was calling herself this week barely even glanced up from her phone. "He's ready for you now."

_____________________

Mycroft glowered at Sherlock's typically dramatic entrance into his incredibly dull office. Wordlessly, his rubbish older brother handed over a thick folder and an envelope Sherlock imagined held the necessary details of who he was going to be for his phase of the mission.

"Just tell me this, Mycroft" Sherlock heard himself say, even though he immediately hated himself for the sentiment in his voice. "Did it work? Are Moriarty's men still watching them?" Mycroft said nothing for an hour or more, testing Sherlock's patience - his desire to know about his flatmate. As if waiting for an hour was the longest amount of time Sherlock had ever sat in silence for John. He could wait forever if that was what it took. "Mycroft" he began at the end of the interminable hour. "If you don't tell me, I'll tell Mummy."

"Mummy would understand" Mycroft drawled. "It's a matter of national importance-"

"Not about John" Sherlock dismissed, steepling his fingers in his signature pose. A wicked grin appeared on his face. There was nothing like blackmailing his sibling. It was just so fun. "About Lestrade." He sat back in his uncommon chair and waited for the threat to sink in.

"Doctor Watson is no longer under surveillance" Mycroft replied, sounding bored despite the fleeting horror Sherlock's threat had caused. "But if you see him now, Sherlock, I cannot guarantee his safety. Or yours."

"I'm a dead man on a suicide mission to wipe out a criminal empire" Sherlock snapped, his implication that Mycroft was an idiot clear in his tone. "I hardly think my safety is a factor in this equation." He adjusted his coat collar just so (hearing John chiding him for making himself look cool - well of course he did! He only ever wanted John to notice him!), and strode for the door. Finally, he could get on his way.

"Sherlock" Mycroft called, stopping him with his hand on the doorknob. He half-turned, scowling at his brother. "Alone will protect you."

"No" Sherlock snapped, drawing himself up tall. The realisation hit him like it had been there all along. And he supposed it had really, ever since a former army doctor had limped his way into his lab, his flat, and his life. "Alone isn't what protects me. John Watson is."

____________

After that dramatic exit, there was only one place Sherlock could think to go. He hacked into Mycroft's security network (pathetically easy really), and found where John Watson was going. His grave. How utterly sentimental. How perfectly John.

__________

Sherlock reached his position just in time to see John stood in front of the grave bearing Sherlock's name. That most excellent of men touched his gravestone gently, turning away from Sherlock for what could be (if Sherlock was being realistic) the final time. Sherlock was gripped with the sudden, irrational urge to call out, to get John to come back to him. But he couldn't do that, not if John was potentially getting over him.

"But please, there just one more thing" John began, voice choked, turning back to him. "One more thing. One more miracle, Sherlock, for me-" As if there was anything in this world that Sherlock would not do for John, no matter how ludicrous the request would turn out to be. "Don't be...dead." Sherlock felt his heart beginning to crack. "Would you do that?" John continued, hammering another shard into his heart. "Just for me. Just stop it. Stop this." The broken plea in John's voice was too much for Sherlock's aching heart to take. He didn't care how much Mycroft was going to yell at him for messing up his plans, Sherlock could not stand by and watch John grieve needlessly. Not if there was something he could do about it. Not when John had just asked him to stop it. Mycroft had said (getting the information was like pulling teeth), Moriarty's men weren't watching John anymore. If he wanted to do anything impulsive, this was his last chance to do so - he flew to Avignon tonight.

______________________

The sound of Sherlock's deliberately heavy footsteps made John turn back towards the trees. "John" Sherlock breathed, taking in his first true moment together with his flatmate since his Fall. John took a step back, as if certain he was hallucinating. Sherlock remained still, careful not to do anything that might exacerbate the situation. John blinked, rubbed his eyes, blinked again, and finally shuffled forward to peer at and around Sherlock. Sherlock offered a slight smile in return, hoping to move things along a little.

"You bloody bastard! You utter cock!" Sherlock braced himself. This was it. The time that his antics had finally made John snap. John was going to punch him. Again. He knew it. Deserved it. John reached up with his dominant left hand (steady as ever), something desperately sad flickering across his eyes as Sherlock instinctively flinched back (he may have been braced for it, but that didn't mean he wanted to get punched). John's strong fingers curled in the fabric of his lapel, tugging him down none too gently. They were at eye level, John's serious gaze boring into Sherlock's own. "You do that again, you brilliant manic, and I swear to God I'll kill you myself." But his voice wasn't furious like Sherlock had expected. John sounded different - he sounded happy? Sherlock frowned a little. He hated not knowing something for certain. But this was emotions, and they weren't really his area - he had John for that. "Oh, for God's sake" John muttered, rolling his eyes as a million times before (well, not literally, but the hyperbole wasn't entirely without merit). "Come here." Sherlock found his nose pressed to the fabric of John's jacket, instinctively breathing in the smell of 221B - John's tea, John's jam, Mrs Hudson's aerosol cleaners, antiseptic, and just generally John. "I'm so glad you're back."

"You're not... angry?" Sherlock tested, pulling back from the hug a little.

"Oh, I'm bloody pissed off" John assured him, humour dancing in his eyes. "And that's definitely going to come out every now and then. And you'll be doing the sodding groceries from now on. But you're here. That's all that matters."

"Are you coming with me, back to Baker Street?" John asked cheerfully. "Mrs Hudson and Lestrade - they all deserve to know you're not-" John broke off, unable to voice the word 'dead' again.

"No, John" Sherlock replied gently. This wasn't going to be good. "I have to stay dead for a little while longer. I have some unfinished business with Moriarty's criminal network." Sherlock took a step back, watching the realisation spring to the forefront of John's quick mind.

"You were planning on leaving without telling me?!" When John yelled, Sherlock was always reminded that he'd been an army doctor.

"It was the only way, John" Sherlock protested feebly. "You were being watched."

"Oh that's alright then!" John yelled, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "Of course you couldn't tell me you didn't actually kill yourself! That's a perfectly valid reason!" John stood with his head in his hands for a long minute, visibly calming his temper. "I was being watched? Moriarty?"

"His men" Sherlock clarified, John liked the facts when he was in this mood. "You, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade."

"And they've stopped?" John checked, turning back to Sherlock.

"For now" Sherlock sighed, resisting the urge to fidget. "Mycroft thinks they'll periodically check in on you all. Especially once I start my mission."

"What suicidal plan has that cock of a brother forced you into?"

"Singlehandedly dismantling Moriarty's network" Sherlock shrugged. He didn't see that much of a problem. As Mycroft said, it was his mess, he ought to be the one to clean it up. "Anywhere from two to five years, Mycroft predicts. If I don't die."

"Mrs Hudson and Lestrade deserve to know" John said again, clealry choosing not to focus on Sherlocks suicidal mission.

"If Moriarty's network finds out, they'll kill Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, Mycroft."

"So I'm just supposed to go back to Baker Street and carry on grieving you even though you're not dead?" John asked, tone suggesting this idea was a bit not good.

"Well" Sherlock began, pacing a little. "You are a rubbish actor. Really, you might just blow the whole operation if you go back." John let out a growl of frustration (or was it offense? Sherlock couldn't tell), and Sherlock turned back to him, hands out in placation. "Fancy coming along?" Sherlock asked, quirking a wry smile. John stared at him for a long moment, anger warring with relief in his eyes. "Could be dangerous."

"Come with you, to dismantle Moriarty's network? Instead of being left behind in this hellhole without you?" John asked, tone unreadable. Sherlock worried his lip, for once not bothering to hide his uncertainty from his blogger. "Danger, international travel?" John's magical eyes twinkled. "Oh God yes."

___________________

"John" Sherlock began, grateful for the distraction of sneaking back to Mycroft's waiting car. "There is one more thing I should tell you. I meant to tell you when I was on the roof - but you didn't deserve to hear it like that." He turned to face John, but found his gaze incapable of meeting John's. His blogger took his hand (trembling, odd) and gently encouraged him to meet his gaze. He stared for a long time, trying to convey without words the sentiment he was feeling. "John" he said, frowning at the way his name always sounded like what Sherlock was really meaning (which he was) was that John was his entire universe. "John" he said again, this time softer but no less productive.

"If you're trying to tell me something ridiculous like 'Sherlock is a girl's name' or whatever, you can bloody quit it" John announced, stepping into his personal space. "Tell me why you came to see me today."

"Because I wanted to see you one last time" Sherlock replied. Honestly, the answer was so simple even Anderson could have guessed it. But he didn't want to think about Anderson right now. Not when John was- What was John doing? Smiling at him? Why were their butterflies in his stomach? And why was his heart fluttering?

"Why did you want to see me one last time, Sherlock?" John prompted, as carelessly as questioning one of their clients.

"Because" Sherlock began, mouth working for words that wouldn't come. It was ridiculous. He was a sociopath, a freak, a machine. He didn't have feelings. Certainly not for the bravest and best man that had ever drawn breath. Oh sod it, Sherlock decided to stop being such a girl. "Because Mycroft says that love is a chemical defect found on the losing side, but I think he's wrong because however you make me weak, you make me strong too. Because- umph." The press of John's lips cut off Sherlock's babbling. He carried on talking for a few moments, until his brain caught up with what was going on and decided that participating enthusiastically was the way to go. When they pulled back - breathing, definitely boring - John grinned at his state.

"Are you trying to tell me that you love me?"

"Yes, obviously" Sherlock drawled with his customary arrogance.

"Good" John stated, drawing himself up to his full bearing. "Because I love you too. And just so you know, I'm a jealous bastard, and you're never kissing anyone else ever again."

"Yes, Captain Watson" Sherlock replied quietly, turning his coat collar up to hide his blush. "Ready to give Mycroft a telling off?"

"I chinned the Chief Superintendent" John reminded him gleefully. "What makes you think I won't chin Mycroft too?"

"Just give me some warning, I want to film it" Sherlock smiled innocently, his eyes dancing with glee. "For science."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Stay safe!


End file.
